Reciprocity
by Nienna Nir
Summary: An injury Dean sustains while on a hunt reminds Castiel of a similar situation the first time he carried the human from danger.


Castiel coughed, sulfur searing his nose. He stumbled out of the burning building, the body in his arms nearly dead weight and he struggled to keep them both upright. He was vaguely aware of Sam covering their escape, the demon blade clutched tight in his hand.

"I've got your back!" Sam called. "Get him out of here!" Castiel obeyed, dragging Dean across the parking lot away from the fire and toward safety. He lost his footing again, nearly dropping Dean to the pavement but managing to ease him down more gently. There was a large gash across his chest and an oozing cut on his head that had bled down his face and the angel winced.

"That went well," Sam declared sarcastically, his eyes still desperately scanning the area for signs of attack.

"Dean!" Castiel's heart thudded in his chest with rising panic. Dean wasn't responding and the angel was aware that his hands were trembling only slightly as he stripped away the hunter's shirt, pressing it to the wound in his chest. The familiarity of it all was just too unsettling and the memories flooded back to him, memories he kept carefully in check lest they lead to distraction.

The sound of angels and demons engaged in bloody battle rang once more in his ears, the burn of sulfur so thick in the air that it stung his grace like open flames on skin. He clutched the limp form to him, its essence bleeding out, hemorrhaging from open wounds.

"Dean Winchester!" He called sternly, resting the shattered soul on the ground. There was so little of the man left. He was dimly aware of his brothers and sisters defending his position and he winced. They were dying, dying for this human who was barely an inch from death himself.

For forty years they had laid siege to Hell, clawing tooth and nail to reach the Righteous Man before their chance to avert the apocalypse slipped through their fingers. He would never forget Rachel's gasp of horror as they finally breached the cell, their brother's and sisters defending their rear. Castiel had been prepared for the gruesome scene of finding Dean Winchester's soul butchered and in the throes of brutal torture but even he had not expected the scene before them; The Righteous Man tearing into the soul on the rack with savage abandon, each lash and shred and slice carving even deeper into his own soul. The soul on the rack screamed in agony and with each scream shreds of the soul of the Righteous Man tore free, turning to ash.

"Is he trying to destroy himself?" Rachel asked, her voice trembling. Castiel felt a surge of despair.

"Yes," he answered softly. He gathered his grace and he was vaguely aware of Rachel attempting to hold him back but he shook his sister free, charging forward, smiting the demons standing guard and gripping the shattered fragments of Dean Winchester's soul in his arms.

The power and purity of his grace against so much damage and desolation must have been excruciating because the mortal screamed in misery, trying to wrest free before finally collapsing and Castiel had born him back through the front lines. Fighting each step of the way, struggling to maintain his hold on the mortal as enraged demons clawed at him tearing at his wings.

"Dean Winchester," he repeated, struggling to gather the soul before it could leech away.

"We've come too late," It was Balthazar's voice and Castiel let his gaze rest on his brother, anguish radiating from the elder angel. "Forty years, and it has been for nothing."

"No," Castiel shook his head.

"Cas," He shuddered at the soothing touch of Balthazar's grace against his own. "Brother, look at him. There is nothing left." Grief welled inside of him, even now, mangled and frayed and disfigured beyond all recognition as human the beauty of the soul in his arms could not be denied, it's last shreds of humanity glowing with unrestrained brilliance. He must have been glorious once, such a soul was so incredibly rare, a work of art, the very essence of their Father made manifest.

"No!" Castiel declared more vehemently. "I witnessed the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, the Library of Alexandria, the Tangshan earthquake, the Peshtigo fire. Not this, I will not watch this."

"Brother," Balthazar's voice was so gentle as to be almost painful. "It will destroy you." Castiel repressed a shudder, resolve welling up within him as he nodded sharply.

"I will defend you," Balthazar acknowledged resignedly. He reached out with his grace in a tender caress before turing to face the demon horde rising to take back their prisoner.

"If I should... be unsuccessful," Castiel began.

"I will bear him from this place for you," Balthazar promised. "Whatever the case." Castiel nodded again.

"Dean Winchester," He called a third time.

"Let me die," the fragmented soul cried out in misery. "please, let me..."

"No," Castiel murmured gently. "no, I've come to save you." He reached out with his grace, gritting his teeth in agony as he ripped a part of it free, shuddering in pain as he stretched it, wrapping it to cocoon like a blanket around the Righteous Man, binding the wounded soul with the very essence of his own. He gathered Dean Winchester to him, the light of his grace infusing the mortal with holy power, knitting his lacerated form together once more.

He could feel his grace ebbing, the life draining from him but he held fast despite the pain. And then, suddenly he was awash in light, holy, pure, unfettered. The soul in his grasp glowed bright, so brightly that the demons surrounding them shrieked with the pain of it. Castiel gasped, the place where his grace had been ripped only moments before, wracked with pain was now easing and in the midst of perdition with the hosts of hell about to fall upon them, a peaceful warmth filled him, a wave of overwhelming comfort surging out from the soul he held.

Emotion, such emotion, passion and conviction and loyalty and devotion as he had never known before. Righteous anger more beautiful that the most perfect flower and nobility so vast that the seas could not contain it. Hatred of evil stronger than the most powerful shield and absolution for the most unforgivable of sins. Love, love as unfathomable as the depths of all creation itself, vast as a thousand universes. Love that would utterly destroy itself for a brother, a father, a friend, willingly, gladly, to do more than merely tear a single strand of grace but to completely eviscerate the soul for the love of another.

"Dean Winchester?" he murmured in awe. Never, never had he known, never had he witnessed anything so remarkable. An emotion he could not name welled within him, something so exquisite in it's perfection that it was as painful as it was intoxicating.

He gazed down at the soul now restored but still weakened. Anguish marred the visage before him, regret, a thousand emotions unknown to him but Castiel could do nothing but stare. He should be dead now, but instead he felt reborn, the very joy of his Father Himself coursing through him.

"Castiel, Hurry!" Balthazar commanded. "Before they regroup!" Castiel did not hesitate, he grasped up the mortal and together they flew, through time and dimension, from the depths of hell through cities and farms to a wood in Illinois.

"Dean Winchester," Castiel's vessel appeared before a makeshift wooden cross, human hands cradling the essence of a soul, glowing with unabashed beauty. "There is little time, I wish I could ease this for you, but I cannot risk delay. I must restore you before they can come for you." Without another word he placed the soul over the grave and grasped hold of it with his right hand. With a groan he pressed, forcing the soul through the earth, through a pine box and into a still body lying beneath the soil. His hand grasped flesh and he stifled a moan, once more feeding celestial energy into the other being, this time to restore his body and unite his spirit. With a cry he pulled his hand from the ground and a wave like an explosion erupted from him, leveling the trees around them.

"Dean Winchester," he murmured breathlessly, his fingertips brushing the grass over the grave as if to reach out and touch the mortal shuddering to life beneath the earth. Castiel stumbled to his feet in breathless wonder. His eyes welled with unshed tears, overwhelmed with all he had seen and touched, and what had touched him. He gathered his grace, it was not right for him to be here in this form to watch his messiah rise from the dead.

"Cas! Snap out of it man!" Sam was shouting at him and he rubbed the soot from his face, blinking his eyes.

"Dean," Cas called gently, his hand resting on the hunter's shoulder, finding the mark of his own palm print though the layers of fabric.

"Did I get hit by a truck?" Dean muttered thickly, blinking up at him with bleary eyes.

"I believe it was an industrial water heater, Dean," Cas answered with a concerned frown. "Sam, I think he may have lost his memories."

"It's ok Cas," Sam chuckled, leaning over his shoulder with a grin. "Hey you Jerk, wake up."

"Bitch," Dean slurred, he hissed in pain and Castiel's hand covered the wound in his chest.

"You are damaged," Cas observed, his brow knitting.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean coughed out. "Ok, girls, get me out of here."

"Angels do not have gender as you understand it, Dean," Cas pointed out.

"Damn it, Cas, my head hurts too much for this right now," Dean swore, his fingers grasping in the sleeve of the angel's trench coat as he struggled to pull himself up.

"I do not think it wise for you to move yet," Cas declared worriedly.

"Shut up, Cas," Dean sighed as Sam laughed, pulling him to his feet and steadying him as Castiel pulled Dean's arm around his shoulders, supporting him as he wobbled.

"You've looked better," Sam grinned. Dean shot him a glare. He moved to grasp Dean's other arm, but Castiel pulled Dean closer.

"It's all right, I have him," the angel said with a frown. "We can't afford to let our guard down."

"I think we got them all, Cas," Dean observed with a wry grin.

"I can bear your weight," Castiel insisted with a scowl. "It is not the first time." Dean blinked back at him, his vision foggy from his head wound.

"Yeah," Dean murmured as Cas half dragged him toward the Impala, Sam still on his guard. He looked at Castiel with a fond expression. "You always have my back, man, thanks." Castiel turned adoring eyes on him that gave Dean an uncomfortable smile and Sam let out a laugh.

"Can't you two get a room?" he teased, opening the rear door. Cas heaved his charge into the back seat.

"I do not think Dean is in any condition for strenuous activity," Castiel declared concern written on every inch of his face.

"Shut the hell up, Cas!" Dean barked angrily, sprawled on the back seat of the Impala as Sam busted up laughing.


End file.
